


With Apologies to Mariah Carey

by KareliaSweet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Christmas, Christmas Shopping, Fluff, Holidays, Inappropriate use of Top 40 Christmas Singles, Kissing, M/M, Murder Husbands, Terror, of course Hannibal got the blue box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5397593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pure, unapologetic Christmas murder fluff, based on a prompt requiring some sort of hostage situation. Please disregard every sensible thought you have about the workings of security in outdoor shopping malls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Apologies to Mariah Carey

_I don’t want a lot for Christmas_  
_There is just one thing I need_  
  
Will burrows his face deeper into his scarf as he trudges through the crowds. Christmastime is one of the few times of the year that he and Hannibal can go out into such a public place and never be seen, and he both loves and hates it.  
  
He scans the overpriced boutiques, shaking his head in resignation even as he does. No matter what he buys Hannibal, two things will invariably happen. Hannibal will wildly outgift him with something extravagant and maddeningly perfect, and he will insist that he could receive no greater gift than Will himself.  
  
As outcomes go, it’s not exactly terrible, and Christmas Day always ends with Will being unwrapped like a present and coming at least twice.  
  
Come to think of it, that’s most days that end in y.  
  
_I don’t care about the presents_  
_Underneath the Christmas tree_  
  
He veers a sharp right and heads towards Barney’s. He can probably find a scarf there. Hannibal only has twenty seven scarves - not that Will has counted them - he could use a new one.  
  
Or maybe a nice pair of gloves.  
  
Will sighs. He really is terrible at this.  
  
_I just want you for my own_  
_More than you could ever kn-_  
  
A sharp beep cuts through the off-brand caroling that warbles through the loudspeakers, and Will answers his phone.  
  
“I’m almost done, I swear,” he lies.  
  
“Will.” Hannibal’s voice is low and strained. Will’s senses immediately go on high alert.  
  
“What is it? What’s happened?”  
  
“Do not be alarmed,” Hannibal says, “but it appears I am being held up.”  
  
Blood drains from his face. “What?” he hisses. “Where are you?”  
  
“Tiffany’s,” Hannibal replies, and Will scowls despite himself. Of course he went to fucking Tiffany’s.  
  
“There are two men with guns,” he says calmly, “they have disabled the security system and shot both of the security guards. I would imagine help is on its way.”  
  
“You’re goddamn right it is,” Will snaps, and turns sharply around.  
  
“Will,” Hannibal warns, “don’t do something foolish.”  
  
“I threw us off a cliff and now we kill people for sport,” Will replies, “define foolish.”  
  
He hears Hannibal take a breath to scold him, but he thumbs his phone silent and marches towards Tiffany’s with blood in his eyes.  
  
He finds the back entrance easily and slips in, marking his way through the corridors until he reaches the back room. He peers through a small glass pane and surveys the situation. Two men, both hooded, one thick and muscular, the other wiry but clearly strong. He watches them move, marks their weaknesses, then with a flourish he swings the door open.  
  
“Merry Christmas, everybody!”  
  
All eyes turn to him. Hannibal looks furious, or like he’s going to kiss him. Probably both. In the split second that he has stunned the robbers, he has slipped the knife from his palm into the wiry one’s neck. He gurgles and blood bubbles from his mouth. The muscular one looks on in shock before he gathers himself and trains his gun on Will.  
  
“What the fuck, man?” he yells.  
  
Will tugs the knife free and wipes the blood on his coatsleeve. He can feel Hannibal wincing.  
  
“What the fuck, indeed,” Will replies, nonchalantly ignoring the gun fixed toward him, “I wasn’t even done with my Christmas shopping.”  
  
The man is shaking, equal parts terror and rage. He looks at his dead partner then back at Will.  
  
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, asshole.”  
  
“No you’re not,” Will says breezily, “for two reasons. One - you’d have done it by now. Two - my husband’s gonna kill you first.”  
  
The muscular man doesn’t get another word out before Hannibal has sunk his own knife under his ribs. He drags neatly across, and several people scream and vomit in short order as another cascade of blood blooms over the room. The man falls to the floor with a dull thud, lips trying to form around words that cut short in his throat.  
  
Will crosses to him and leans over the body to peck Hannibal on the cheek.  
  
“Hi, honey.”  
  
Hannibal frowns but his eyes are smiling. “You know I hate when you call me that.”  
  
“I know that you pretend to,” Will winks, and kisses him properly. The man gasps weakly between them and Will steps neatly onto his trachea, pressing down.  
  
“Shut up, asshole,” he says, “no one tries to kill my husband except me.”  
  
The air around them reeks of terror, bystanders are trembling in shock, Will is pretty sure at least one has pissed their pants.  
  
He tugs at Hannibal’s sleeve. “We should probably get going. I still haven’t gotten your Christmas present.”  
  
Hannibal clasps his hand around Will’s neck and pulls him close, licking the stray droplets of blood from his cheek.  
  
“This,” he purrs, “is the greatest present you could ever give me.”  
  
Will smiles and preens into his husband’s touch. “Sadist,” he teases.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Hannibal gazes at him with proud lovesick eyes, and Will pulls at him again.  
  
“Come on,” he laughs, “we can make out in the car.”  
  
They step over the bodies, and as they slip through the back door, someone finally screams. The sound sends twin shivers through them both, and Will nobly fights the urge to stop and fuck Hannibal against the nearest flat surface.  
  
Wiping the blood from their faces, they shed their coats and transform themselves. Will’s shoulders slump and he slips a pair of glasses onto his face. As they exit onto the back street, they lace their hands together, another mild-mannered couple doing their Christmas shopping.  
  
Hannibal strokes his thumb over the ridges of Will’s knuckles. Will would bet dollars to donuts that Hannibal is hard under his pants that very moment. He turns and shoves him into a wall, pressing them flush together and licking into his mouth. Hannibal moans and bucks his hips and Will congratulates himself on winning the easiest bet in the universe.  
  
“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, nipping at Hannibal’s throat.  
  
Hannibal’s hands clutch at his back and slide lower before cupping his ass and slipping something into his back pocket. Will pulls away, breathless.  
  
“Dammit,” he says, resigned but fond, “you still got me a Christmas present?”  
  
He pulls the blue box free and opens it. Inside is a plain gold ring. Will looks up. Hannibal’s eyes are wet.  
  
“I married you long ago,” Hannibal says, “but,” he holds up his hand to show a matching ring, “I thought a symbol might be nice.”  
  
Will holds out his hand to let Hannibal slip the ring onto his finger. He watches the fading afternoon light glint off its surface, and his own eyes fill with tears.  
  
“Hannibal,” he breathes, overcome.  
  
Will ducks to kiss him, tender and soft, Hannibal’s fingers light in his hair.  
  
Then they hear the sirens. Will smiles against his husband’s mouth.  
  
“ _Run,_ ” he growls, and they do.  
  
_Make my wish come true_  
_All I want for Christmas is you_  


**Author's Note:**

> I find humour in the fact that I was going to rate this 'G' because there was no sexy time in it, and then I realized there was a bunch of murder. Oh well. Happy Holidays, everyone!


End file.
